The Miracle

"Dear brother, dearest friend, when I am dead,

And you shall see no more this face of mine,

Let nothing but red roses be the sign

Of the white life I lost for him," she said;

"No, do not curse him, — pity him instead;

Forgive him! — forgive me! . . God's anodyne

For human hate is pity; and the wine

That makes men wise, forgiveness.  I have read

Love's message in love's murder, and I die."

And so they laid her just where she would lie, —

Under red roses.  Red they bloomed and fell;

But when flushed autumn and the snows went by,

And spring came, — lo, from every bud's green shell

Burst a white blossom.  — Can love reason why?